Thursday Christmas Thoughts

 Surely 'don't touch' couldn't possibly be for all those beautiful, colored , shiny balls!

Song: Old Tin Star

If I could have one wish, my friend

I think that it would be

To wonder like a child again

In joy’s simplicity

***

Only God can give it

Coveted release

If we trust in His goodness

Then He will give us peace

***

None of us are so poor

That we cannot give

Thanks

***

None of us are so rich

That we dare not

Give thanks

***

Though we are not able to help everyone

We are all able to help

Someone

***

The weight of duty and expectation

Should never out-weigh

Hope’s celebration

***

Jesus, You owed us nothing

And yet You gave Your all

Jesus, we owe You everything

Why are our gifts so small?

***

Words;

Their cruelty

And their kindness

Are limitless

Let’s keep them beautiful,

Not only at Christmas

But let those sentiments

Written in cards

Become testaments

Of who we are

***

Nobody is a nobody

And that is why God came

So sing a song Of Christmas joy

He loves us all the same

And could not bear that any

Should perish without Him

So sing a song of Christmas joy

To Christ of Bethlehem

© Janet Martin

Oh goodie! She's gone...back to business:)

Ah, Tender-sweet December Eve

Ah, tender-sweet December eve

Blue, blue you let your curtain fall

In solstice-song and snowflake throng

And starlight-spangled Christmas carol

The gentle gleam of home-sweet-home

Beams circle-beacons to the street

Across the yard and boulevard

We hear the homeward haste of feet

…where mothers hold their children near

And suddenly the world is right

The wood-smoke curls in dolor swirls

Against the canvas of the night

We serve the soup and say our prayers

And count our blessings one by one

Ah, tender-sweet December eve

How soon another day is done

© Janet Martin

They are all home again:)

 

Of Muse and Madness

I did not ask you, darling

To love me; unborn jot

You vex me before I am up

And tease my every thought

I cannot bear your essence

Matrix of ice and fire

Yet, how I crave your presence

Provoking my desire

Did you happen upon me

Or is there something more?

You press against a levee where

Ten thousand whispers roar

Ah muse, what keens your spirit?

Are you a curse or gift?

For I can hardly bear it

...without you I’m a-drift

And you pursue me, madly

I laugh and weep and groan

But oh, if you would leave me

My pen would turn to stone

© Janet Martin

Ephemeral Exchanges

The wind that blows the storm to shore

Will bear it back to sea

The dearth that draws you from my door

Will bring you back to me

The stream that steals my now-to-then

Will carry on its tide

The virgin morn waiting its When

As night and day divide

The breath exhaling to the blue

Replenishes its space

Where missing you and wanting you

And loving interlace

The wave that rolls across the beach

Dissolving in a gasp

Is like that moment out of reach

Yet slipping through my grasp

© Janet Martin

Do you ever feel this? I did just now as my daughter left for work.

Winter Quietude

Gone, gone, the laughing leaf of auburn fall

Bronze timbrel tucked into white solitude

The crinkled creek, a placid, polished hall

Its melody of merry May subdued

The song-bird choir that heralded the morn

Is mute; its choristers far, far away

And fields, stripped of wild-bloom and rippling corn

Roll soundlessly to skylines dull and gray

Forgotten fronds shiver, bereft of smile

Betrayed, it seems by winter’s gilded guile

On street or field our muffled footsteps fade

Stillness of white blankets hushed countryside

Somewhere bare feet pause in kind, crooning shade

Where heaven’s eyes are blue and open wide

Here, where the zephyr teased bracken and bloom

Now winds wander earth’s stricken emptiness

Searching through nature’s whitewashed living-room

For something more than stiff, stoic witnesses

Beneath the spell of sequin-silver kiss

The world is wrapped in winter quietness

This is the hour of tranquility

Do not despise the door that leads to spring

The barren tree in meek humility

Trusts He who holds and molds each season-thing

Though stalk has rendered its bloom to the sod

Farewell is not its death, hope fills the seed

It slumbers where the faithfulness of God

Does not forget for He beholds each need

While now we wait; our wanting will subdued

In cathedrals of winter quietude

© Janet Martin

Because my mind is racing this morning I decided it would be good to focus on quietude! :) Merry Christmas all, and may your days leading up to His Birthday Celebration be peaceful and bright!

Soliloquy

I like the way you come to me

So far away and yet so near

You whisper soft against my ear

A winter-night soliloquy

I like the fire in your eye

The way you look, just standing there

Etched tender on the frost-keened air

You warm the dark with summer’s sigh

I like the way time cannot steal

The fellowship of memories

Where you and I like midnight’s breeze

Dance soft and slow on winter’s field

I like the way you touch me, dear

The silence would be crass and cold

But for the echoes that unfold

In white moonlight against my ear

© Janet~

I Love You Too

 

When you speak them to me

No other words will do

So I reply; those four best words

“I love you too”

Three words are wonderful

And forever new

But I tremble at four words;

“I love you too”

We cannot speak these four words

Out of the blue

But they fit perfectly after three;

‘I love you’

“I love you too”

© Janet Martin

Beyond Today...

Beyond today we cannot say

What will befall or if perchance

We might be drawn from moment-spawn

For living’s ephemeral dance

Does not foretell when Time’s farewell

Will place its kiss upon our brow

We cannot see beyond today

The only thing we have is Now

And none can wheedle or demand

One glimpse beyond today’s firm hand

Beyond today we cannot say

What colors fill The Artist’s tray

The gold and gray that slipped away

Is nothing now but yesterday

And we, the love-and-learning squad

March ever onward up to God

Beyond today; a curious thought

Of fantasy and faith unwrought

We tremble twixt the ‘what-has-been’

And the ‘beyond-Today’s-unseen’

Beyond today oh, none can say of wise-man,

Soothsayer or sage

What Life will spill of good and ill

Upon its far and phantom page

Paris in June? Love’s Brigadoon?

What will it be? Ah, none can know

Its filament is lent and spent

Within a gasp that we call Now

And we can never snatch the thread

From He who gives our daily bread

© Janet Martin